


New Year's Day

by ghostproofbaby



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Also stanley Uris got drunk and I didn't write it sorry, Based on a Taylor Swift Song, Beep Beep Richie, F/M, It (2017) - Freeform, M/M, New Year's Day, Reddie, Richie tozier being soft, brief mention of benverly, eddie kaspbrak being cute, fuck pennywise lives, pennywise do NOT interact, soft boy Richie uwu, stephen king do NOT interact, this isn't canon compliant because I just wanted some soft boys on New Years eve/day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-08
Updated: 2019-11-08
Packaged: 2021-01-25 19:44:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21361675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostproofbaby/pseuds/ghostproofbaby
Summary: "I want your midnights, but I'll be cleaning up bottles with you on New Year's Day."cute short reddie one-shot thingie to New Year's Day by Taylor Swift
Relationships: Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Stanley Uris/Alcohol lmao
Kudos: 34





	New Year's Day

A faint clattering awoke Richie. He had been peacefully sleeping on a couch that had been far comfier to him when vodka coursed through his veins, and the space beside him was vacant of the young boy he had fallen asleep with in his arms.

The clattering (of glass, Richie believed) continued on, almost in tune with the pounding in his head. Richie forced his swollen eyes to peek open just enough to see a shadow hastily pacing the room, with a trash bag in (gloved) hand. He expected more light to be filling up the room, but all that he was blinded by was the twinkling of the lights on the Christmas tree the Loser’s had put up and decorated last night.

“It’s too early for that, Eds.”

The figure paused, seemingly frozen. “I thought you were all asleep.”

“I mean, I was, but you were just _so _noisy,” Richie taunted, sitting up and stretching. His lips gathered themselves into a lazy smile, just barely distinguishable from a scowl. His brown eyes were now wide open, gazing up at Eddie.

“I’m sorry,” Eddie mumbled, gently placing the trash bag down. Richie bit back a laugh as he pondered if Eddie really would always blush at everything he said, or if that was just the glow bouncing off the ruby red tinsel.

“Don’t be,” Richie said as he stood up, making Eddie go wide-eyed, “Why you lookin’ at me like that? We’ve got bottles to clean up, cutie.”

And with those words, the boys wondered about the house, this time being careful of how much noise each bottle would make as they slid it in. Their whispers could be heard echoing through the halls, though, as they recalled the night before. Richie had fallen to a giggling mess recalling Ben’s face when Beverly had kissed him on the stroke of midnight. Eddie began to defend him, but had to admit it had been quite the scene. Also, it didn’t help his memory of him was fueled by nearly 5 shots of spiced rum. Eddie had distinct memories of every Loser cheering on for them, ecstatic that the two finally made a move on each other. He had also been slightly jealous (not because he wanted to kiss either of the two, but because he wasn’t being kissed, period).

“Do you remember Stan the man claiming he could handle all those shots? Actually, you might not since you took about half of them with him. Anyways, he ended up a puking mess by 2 AM. Bill had to stay up and help the poor vigilante,” Richie whispered as he grabbed three bottles off the kitchen counter, that still had remains of beer in them. He tipped them upside down over the sink and the sounds of the liquid meeting the cold metal filled the awkward silence.

Eddie awkwardly coughed, debating if he should ask what he was about to.

“Um….. Did I….. Did…. D-Did I do anything, like, stupid?” He couldn’t even begin to hide the blush that was spreading like wild fire, tracing his neck, his nose, his cheeks, _everywhere._

Richie paused, considering how he should answer it. The reality is, what Eddie did wasn’t stupid to Richie. But if Eddie had found out, it might just break Richie’s heart. He knows how it would go down. Richie would gently tell him the way Eddie had become an affectionate drunk, the way he stuck by Richie’s side the whole night, pouting because he was denied being kissed. He would go on to explain Eddie had spent the night complimenting Richie left and right. He had actually spent a whole 45 minutes (exactly) gushing about Richie, to Richie.

_“He’s just so infuriating, you know? I have to be like..” Eddie paused in his drunken rant, squinting his eyes as he threw his hands in front of him self, as if pushing someone away, “Go away, Richard! Oh, no! Stay away you nuisance!” Eddie stopped the shoving hand movements to begin beckoning ones, and Richie could have pissed himself from laughing right then and there, “But in reality I want to be like, come here! Come here and kiss me and hug me and hold my stupid hand and tell me more stupid jokes. You know how I always tell him I hate the nickname Eds? I love it. I love it so much.”_

Richie fondly smiled, thinking about it all. No, he couldn’t tell him, because if Eddie were to take it all back, Richie wasn’t sure his heart would survive this new year.

“Oh, God. What did I do, Richie?” Eddie panicked, taking his smile as something mischievous.

“Nothing, don’t worry about it Eds.”

Eddie began to protest, but Richie wasn’t going to stay on the topic any longer.

“What about New Year’s resolutions? Aren’t you big on them, _Eds_?” Richie would make a point to say that nickname every single time he talked to Eddie from now on, no doubt.

Thankfully, this worked. It triggered Eddie into a rant at first about how he had actually managed to complete his New Year’s resolution last year (“I promised to stop washing my hands so much, and I went from 10 times a day to about 5!”) and how this year, his plan was to wean off of some of his medications. Richie was weary of this one, but over the past 3 years, Eddie had already lowered his doses and learned other coping mechanisms. Of course, Eddie would never tell Richie had become one of them. He always had been.

“But I mean, we can’t beat ourselves up if we don’t go through, you know? Sometimes I think the New Year’s resolution stuff is bullshit. I mean, shouldn’t we always work on who we are as people? A new year shouldn’t be the only reason you want to improve,” Eddie paused, out of breath, and decided to learn against the counter next to Richie, “Anyways, what’s yours?”

There were a million and one resolutions Richie could have said.

_Kiss Eddie._

_Make Eddie smile more often._

_Make Eddie laugh more often._

_Buy Eddie his favorite flowers._

_Hold Eddie’s hands._

_Hold Eddie._

He remembered making that list about 5 minutes to midnight last night. This year, he wanted to tell Eddie how he made him feel. He wanted to scream from rooftops the way Eddie made him feel heard and cared for, and safe. He wanted the young boy to know of the butterflies that bruised his ribcage over the past few years. He needed him to know that whenever _he _said “Beep, beep, Richie!” his heart skipped a beat in a way it didn’t with the other Loser’s (he was more terrified of annoying Eddie. Of scaring Eddie off). He wanted him to know that he regretted not kissing him last night, at midnight. That next year he would grow a pair, and he would kiss him. He wanted to tell Eddie that he wanted his midnights, his mornings, his afternoons, and everything in between.

But instead, with another bottle in hand, Richie turned to Eddie and grinned obnoxiously as he said, “To bed your mom _at least _100 times this year.”

“Beep, beep, Richie!”


End file.
